Moonlight
by Staempel
Summary: "After some trouble back home in Phoenix, Jackson is sent to live with his father in Beacon Hills. Something's not right in the small town and soon Jackson realizes that maybe he has bitten off more than he can chew." Eventual slash, Jackson/Derek. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.** This just wouldn't leave me alone. The idea started as a joke really after several nights of too little sleep and a lot of Derek/Jackson-fics. So now I decided to experiment and give it a shot.

To be honest I haven't actually seen any of the _Teen Wolf_ episodes so any OOC-ness it totally my fault.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own nor am I in any way associated with _Teen Wolf_ and the other fandom this work is influenced by (which I'm not going to mention just yet :P). Everything you recognize belongs to its respective owners and creators.

* * *

**Moonlight**

**1.**

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Beacon Hills exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was to this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my father escaped when he and my mother divorced. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year when I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Beacon Hills that I was now being exiled. I detested Beacon Hills. I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Jackson," my mom said to me – the last of a thousand times – before I got on the plane. "This is for your own good."

"Whatever." I said. I wasn't happy about this and I wouldn't pretend to be.

"Tell David I said hi." She sighed.

"I will. Love you." She smiled and hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane. It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Beacon Hills. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with dad, though, I dreaded that part a bit.

Dad had been fairly nice about the whole thing and seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time since the divorce. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward between us. We hadn't really talked much since I had told him I didn't want to come visit him in Beacon Hills anymore. I hadn't really made a secret of my distaste of the small town.

–

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen – just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun. My dad was waiting for me, leaning against his black SUV.

"It's good to see you, Jackson." He smiled and gave me a one-armed hug. "You haven't changed much. How's your mom?"

"Mom's fine, she says hi." He nodded and took one of my bags from me. I had only a few bags that easily fit in the car. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington.

"I found a good car for you." He announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was a bit suspicious of the way he said it.

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, the guy I bought it from has done a lot of work on the engine – it's only a few years old, really." He dodged the question a bit. But I wouldn't give up so easily.

"When did he buy it?"

"1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties, or late fifties." He admitted. I just shook my head. "Look, I know it's not a Porsche like you're used to, but the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

"If you say so." I said and turned to stare out the window.

Everything was green; the trees, their trunks covered in moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green – like an alien planet.

–

Eventually we made it to my dad's house. He lived in a small two-bedroom house at the edge of town. And there, parked on the street in front of it, was my new – well new to me anyway – truck. It was a simple reddish color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. It definitely wasn't the Porsche, but to my surprise I could actually see myself driving it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged – the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

It only took one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. It looked nothing like my room back home. Wooden floor, light blue walls, and a peaked ceiling. The only furniture was a bed, a dresser, a desk with a chair and an old stationary computer, with the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old dresser I went downstairs. Dad sat in the kitchen with a steaming cup of hot coffee. I knew what was coming, but I sat down anyway.

"So, your mom and I have agreed upon some rules," he started. "School comes first and on school nights you'll to be home by nine."

"What?!" Nine? That was ridiculous.

"No discussion. You made your bed and now you'll have to lie in it." He said. "Homework comes first, friends and girlfriends second. And no lacrosse."

"There's a lacrosse team?"

"As a matter of fact there is. And don't bother trying to weasel yourself in, I've already talked to Coach Finstock and the principal. They know what happened in Phoenix."

"Sounds like you have it all figured out." I commented dryly.

"Someone has to." Dad said and sighed. "You're not a kid anymore, Jackson. It's time to grow up." I snorted and stood up.

"I'm going for a run. Or is that also off the table?"

"Run all you want, just stay close to town. Do not go in to the forest."

"Why not?"

"Some hikers were found ripped to pieces by some animal two weeks ago."

"What kind of animal?"

"Wolves."


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning when I woke up, half an hour before the alarm was set to wake me. Groaning I got out of bed, deciding to go for a morning run.

After taking a shower when I got back and getting dressed for my first day of school in this miserable little town I went downstairs. A note was lying on the dining table telling me that my dad had already left for work. He was an attorney based at a small firm in Port Angeles.

Checking the fridge for breakfast material I decided on a bowl of cereal and an apple. After eating I went into the living room, flopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Nothing good was on so after some time of channel surfing I decided it was time to head out into the rain again.

It was just drizzling now, and not enough to soak me but the wetness swirled around me and clung to my skin. Inside the truck it was nice and dry. Someone had obviously cleaned it up not long ago, but it still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline and peppermint. The radio was antique, but it worked, which was a nice surprise.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, it was just off the highway like most other things. It wasn't obvious that it was a school, and I almost passed it before I saw the sign, which declared it to be Beacon Hills High School. It looked like a collection of matching houses and there were so many shrubs and trees that I couldn't see its size at first.

There was no the chain-link fences, no the metal detectors. Where was the feel of institution? I wondered. But then again, Beacon Hills High School had a frightening total of less than 400 students. Back home there was more than 700 people in my junior class alone.

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading _Front Office_. Inside, it was brightly lit and warm. The office was small; a little waiting area with folding chairs, an orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock that was ticking loudly.

The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-headed woman wearing glasses.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

"I'm Jackson Whittemore." I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected.

"Of course." She said and started digging through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "Here's your schedule and a map of the school." She continued by going through my classes, highlighted the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was supposed to bring back at the end of the day.

–

After three classes, I started to recognize several faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Beacon Hills. Let's just say I lied a lot.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. Her name was Lydia, and by the looks I was given by several of the guys, she was quite popular. She was pretty, had long light reddish blonde hair and full lips. She batted her eyelashes at me and I flirted back, giving her my full attention while she prattled on about teachers and classes. '_Looks like Beacon Hills has its spots of sunlight after all_,' I thought.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced me to. One guy, Danny, told me he was on the lacrosse team and asked if I played. I told him that I did, but that it was a long story. It was there, sitting in the cafeteria, discussing lacrosse with a pouting Lydia to my left, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the long room, as far away from where I sat as possible. There were four of them. The girl had a round face surrounded by wavy blonde hair. Of the three guys, one was big and muscular with short cropped black hair. The second one was leaner with curly light brown hair, he was laughing and talking with the girl. The last one looked a few years older than the others. Like he should be in college, not high school. He had broad shoulders, but wasn't as big as the first one, had dark messy hair and had what was called a five o'clock shadow.

"Who are they?" I asked as the first guy got up and left. The third one looked up and locked eyes with me, glaring before he looked away. Lydia looked up and snorted when she saw who I meant.

"That's Derek Hale." She said, her voice dripping with contempt, which made me think this Hale guy had rejected her at some point.

"The others are Isaac Lahey and Erica Reyes. The one who left was Boyd. They're all in our year, even Hale." Danny added.

"It's weird, they were all nobody's before Derek took an interest in them." Lydia said. "Erica was fat and had as much confidence as a mouse."

"Is that jealousy?" I asked, smirking at her.

"I'm not even gonna dignify that with an answer." She said, standing up to leave. I chuckled and Danny just shook his head.

"What's your next class?" He asked.

"Chemistry."

"Me too." Danny grimaced. "We better get going then, Harris doesn't like it when you're late."


End file.
